


Splinter in My Fingertips

by gaslightgallows (hearts_blood)



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Closet Sex, F/M, First Meetings, First Time, Rough Kissing, Rough Sex, Snark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-10
Updated: 2017-12-10
Packaged: 2019-02-13 06:03:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12977631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hearts_blood/pseuds/gaslightgallows
Summary: The Grandmaster’s challenge is not the first time Loki and Valkyrie have faced off.





	Splinter in My Fingertips

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lilithenaltum](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilithenaltum/gifts).



> I promised Lilithenaltum a fic as incentive for finishing a project. She finished, so here’s the fic! ♥ 
> 
> If you’re on Tumblr, please consider following me at [gaslightgallows.tumblr.com](http://gaslightgallows.tumblr.com) for more fic, reblogs about writing, and lots of randomness. Thank you for reading and especially for commenting. Comments are love. ♥

Brunnhilde has seen the Grandmaster’s new pet before, in the master’s box at the arena, in the club, at all the official functions. Tall, slim, dark hair down to his shoulders. Aristocratic features. Good blood from somewhere, clearly. Always by the Grandmaster’s side. 

He’s standing there the first time she meets him, drink in one hand, gaze on her, even though his eyes are glued to the Grandmaster as he conducts the party. Well, orgy’s a more appropriate word. Brunnhilde is always invited. Sometimes she even participates.

“Ah, now this,” says the Grandmaster, gesturing at Brunnhilde as she approaches, “this is one of my favorite people. She is just The Best. Don’t I always say you’re The Best, Scrapper One-Four-Two?”

“Always,” Brunnhilde replies, with a bit of a flirtatious grin. She’s never shared the Grandmaster’s bed and she’s damned well determined not to, but it doesn’t hurt to keep the old man on a long lead. 

“And _this_ ,” he continues, patting the leather sleeve of the elegant young man possessively, “is Loki. From – where’d you say you were from?”

“Nowhere in particular,” Loki answers smoothly, and inclines his head at Brunnhilde in a distinctly regal manner. 

Asgardian. She knows it without thinking. The name is Asgardian, the voice laced with a court accent. She doesn’t recognize this Loki personally, but the trappings? 

He’s one of her own. 

“And what brings you to Sakaar?” she asks, sizing him up, wondering if things have gotten so bad back home that even the nobility are starting to flee. 

Loki shrugs and gestures to the room at large and the world in general. “What brings any of us here?”

“That’s just what I would’ve said,” the Grandmaster agrees, smiling benevolently at both of them. 

Both Brunnhilde and Loki shudder when he’s not looking. 

“Oh, One-Four-Two, I almost forgot! The last contender you brought me? He was _fantastic_.”

“He was all right,” she demures. “I could’ve done better.”

“See, that’s why I like you, you’re always trying to improve yourself.” The Grandmaster leans forward and waves his hand at the assembled party-goers, most of which are already in various stages of copulation. “I’m feeling generous. Pick someone. Anyone. Take ‘em home for the night.”

Brunnhilde raises an eyebrow. “Anyone?”

“Sure, anyone!”

She scans the room but is disappointed. There is a noticeable dearth of women at the orgy tonight. 

It’s on the tip of her tongue to refuse... but people don’t get into the Grandmaster’s good books by refusing his gifts. He is supremely generous, but only so long as he chooses to be. 

Brunnhilde turns her eyes back to Loki. “Him.”

Loki chokes on his drink, and the Grandmaster laughs. “Sure, why not? I had plans for tonight, but they can wait.” He pats Loki’s ass and then shoves him forward. “Have fun, and don’t forget to tell me all the juicy details.”

The scrapper and her lover for the night take their leave of the Grandmaster’s good time. Brunnhilde ducks into the first empty utility closet she finds, dragging Loki in after her. She doesn’t bother finding the light switch, but shoves him up against a stack of boxes she sees before the door closes.

“Not the room I would’ve chosen,” he says, his voice like warm rum, “but if it’s your kink—”

“Shut up, Lackey.”

“It’s Loki.”

“I’ll fuck you with pleasure, because he’ll know if I don’t, but I am _not_ taking you back to my place.”

“Then why pick me?” he retorts. His hands are on her hips. Just on her hips, but she doesn’t want him to get any ideas. She shoves her thigh between his legs, pressing up. Damn, but he’s hard already. No wonder the Grandmaster likes him so much, if he’s that responsive. 

“Because you were the prettiest face there.” She reaches up to tangle her hand in his hair. It’s finer than she thought at first, and not soft. The strands spark as she winds them tightly around her fingers. She pulls him down for a rough kiss, pushing past his lips and licking into his mouth. His deep moan of pleasure thunders through her bones. 

He grinds on her thigh, almost keening. Valkyrie finds the ornate flap of his trousers and shoves her hand down the front. “Fucking hell,” she mutters against his lips. “No wonder the boss likes you.”

Loki laughs, quick and shallow. She hears a crash and realizes he’s knocked half the stack of boxes over, and then he pulls her forward so that she’s in his lap atop what remains of the stack. “Best you can do?”

“We could’ve easily done this in a bed. You’re the one who picked a broom closet. Can’t we at least turn a light on?”

“No,” Brunnhilde says shortly, tugging his head back sharply and finding his throat with her teeth. She knows how much pressure and force her own people’s skin can take, and she sucks hard, wanting to leave a mark for the Grandmaster’s edification. “There, that should please him.”

Loki says nothing. He’s panting, and his hands are trembling, but except for when he lifted her up, he hasn’t moved them from her hips. “You waiting for an invitation, Lackey?”

“ _Loki_ ,” he growls. But it’s all he needs, then he’s peeling the leather tabard from her torso and all but devouring her breasts with an unerring skill that leaves her gasping in seconds. His stiff cock is rubbing against the front of her leggings, and she’s already soaked. 

He pushes the tight fabric down over her hips and ass, and then Brunnhilde grabs his wrists and slams them against the wall over his head. She spears herself on him slowly, pressing her lips to his so that neither of them make more noise than they have to. Oh, but he’s thick... She’s mostly only bothered with women, these last few centuries, and it’s been a thousand years and longer since she was with a man of her own people. Anyone of her own people.

And she hates to admit it, but she’s missed this. 

Her knees come to rest on either side of his thighs. She breaks the kiss abruptly, and for a few seconds, the only sound is that of their breathing, and the slight vibration of their perch of boxes as their muscles tremble with the effort of maintaining control. 

Then her breasts are against his chest (there’s scar tissue there) and her hands are in his hair (fine and wiry as thread on a loom), and she just rides him for all she’s worth. He’s got one arm around her middle and the other hand wrapped around the back of her neck, and his breath is warm and smells of good rum and his mouth tastes like home. 

Brunnhilde gets dressed in the dark, while he’s still catching his breath, and leaves before he can turn the light on. 

It’s not until she gets back to her apartment that she realizes she still has strands of his hair wrapped around her fingers.

The next time she sees him, he’s back at the Grandmaster’s side. Brunnhilde remembers the taste of his mouth and the feeling of his hands, and leaves before he can spot her.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Splinter in my Fingertips [Podfic]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15566718) by [lacygrey](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lacygrey/pseuds/lacygrey)




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